Postcard Love.

BY : Harmony Sunsinger
Category: +G through L > Hey, Arnold!
Dragon prints: 5676
Disclaimer: I don't own Hey, Arnold! and I don't make any money from this smut.

Title: Postcard Love.
Author: Sun
Fandom: Hey Arnold!
Pairing: Arnold/Helga
Rating: Adult
A/N-Disclaimer: Don’t own Hey Arnold!
Prompt: 028: Anonymous

“Hey, Arnold!” Gerald yelled to his oldest friend and fellow eleventh-grader. The older boy turned his head, despite the conversation the cute girl was trying to have with him, and then he said goodbye and jogged over to where Gerald was standing.

“What’s up, man?” The two performed their long, elaborate Secret Handshake, laughing hysterically by the end of it. As they walked down the street, waving to the familiar, elderly street vendors they’d grown up knowing, Arnold got that all-too-familiar feeling of being watched – closely. He stopped, Gerald stopping with him after just two more steps, and he looked around wildly, completely bewildered.

“Is she following us again, you think?” Gerald asked quietly, looking around as well.

Arnold shrugged. “Probably,” he said as the pair started walking again, ignoring the creepy feeling causing the hairs on the nape of his neck to stand up.

Secretly, I love this feeling, Arnold mused as he and Gerald chatted and walked. It means she’s nearby… Soon, they made it to his stoop, and the Secret Handshake was performed once more before Arnold hopped up the stairs and disappeared into the apartment, allowing Gerald to continue on down the street to get to his own place.

“Heya, there, Tex!” Grandma greeted him as he dropped his backpack on the floor and plopped down into a kitchen chair. He didn’t even raise a blonde eyebrow at her cowgirl getup; after all, it was a normal thing for their household. Grandma was just a wild spirit, Grandpa’d always said… “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

Arnold cracked a wry smile at his grandmother. “Nothin’, really, Grandma. Where’s Grandpa?”

“Oh, he just ran down to the general store; I needed some new spurs, since mine’re getting’ pretty worn out, youngin’.” She gave him a bright, toothy smile before gesturing to the counter. “And you got some mail, by the way.” As she left the kitchen, Arnold stood, sliding out of the chair and crossing the small kitchen.

“Another one?” he mumbled, picking up the vibrantly colored postcard and looking it over. There was a black and white photo of a pair of hands, fingers tightly linked. He flipped it over; written on the back, in plain, simple black ink, were the words,

Your lips dangle nervously above my core;
It’s dripping with my sweet, hot nectar.
Your eyes look up, catching mine
As your tongue reaches out and tastes me.

The handwriting was definitely feminine, and it curled just a tiny bit; the card wasn’t signed. It was anonymous, just like the other thirty or so he had collected at the bottom of his sock drawer upstairs.

Lifting the small, simple piece of cardboard to his nose, Arnold inhaled.

Flowers. Like Helga.

Smiling, he tucked it in his back pocket and made his way upstairs.

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